The man in my kitchen

Yesterday was not the first time that I’ve been grateful to have a cooking husband, but it might be one of the best.  His cousins stopped by on their way back home (Manitoba to Nova Scotia with three girls under the age of 7–they’re brave!) and we wanted to make them lunch.  So, while Sydney ran to the garden to get ingredients I made two salads and did some prep work.  But then Katherine woke up and I was suddenly fully occupied.  So I took care of Katherine while Sydney made three more dishes and a loaf of homemade bread.  Voila!  Lunch, and in quantity.  Not the first time I’ve heard a wife remark to her husband, “See, honey, Sydney cooks–and changes diapers!”

My mom always said that I should marry a man who cooked and worked with wood because it would be a tremendous help in the home and mean that I would get the furniture I wanted.  I ignored Mom and married Sydney, who didn’t, at that time, do the former, and who wasn’t, at that time, doing any of the latter.  But I’ve since become very, very grateful that he’s come out with these new and previously-hidden talents, with some major gardening on the side.  Thank you, Sydney 🙂


P.S. I often gripe about these very talents (e.g., the time spent gardening and not hiking, the dishes racked up from all the cooking, the mess from the woodworking), so I thought it only appropriate that I spend a bit of time being grateful for them.

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